Books are a uniquely portable magic. ~ Stephen King

Monday, March 29, 2010

Wendy Doesn't Know (So Don't Tell Wendy)

Memoir Monday

March Madness has set me to musing about basketball. I would never go so far as to call myself a fan - that would be wildly inaccurate - but I sort of like watching it. I haven't sought out any games, but I do frequent bars (Please don't have a heart attack and die from the shock. It's true.) and the games have been hard to ignore in that setting. It's not just that I'll watch anything that's on, either, because I can ignore baseball quite neatly. Basketball has some appeal for me; it's fast moving, things can change quickly and the rules aren't terribly complex.

Plus, I have some experience being a basketball fan.

I was in the high school marching band. My parents were supportive and made sure I got everywhere I needed to be, but they did not go to all - or even most - of my performances. (And those were in the middle of football games, for Pete's sake - not a difficult sport to watch at ALL) Their reasoning was that my dad was a teacher at our high school and it was a different dynamic. They didn't get involved with band boosters or anything like that because he wanted his role to be clearly defined within the structure of the school as faculty and he didn't want to blur that line by becoming an active parent.

As both a parent and a teacher myself, I do sort of get that.

At the time it hurt my feelings a little bit.

My sister, Wendy, was more athletic than musical. Her primary sport was basketball. My parents took the same approach with her basketball games as they took with my band performances. They showed up for a couple games each season, but didn't become very involved. So I took matters into my own hands. I never missed a home game and went to as many away games as I possibly could. I wanted there to always be someone in the stands who was there not necessarily for the love of the game, but for the love of her. I was her biggest fan.

She may not have even known I was there.

If she did, she certainly never knew the reasoning behind it.

She would've found it ridiculously sappy and sentimental, and no one has ever accused her of being a sappy and sentimental chick.

She might have hated it.

But it was pure love.

Wendy doesn't know.

Or maybe she does.


  1. I'm betting she knows all of it. Just maybe doesn't how to say thanks.

  2. It's when I hear stories like this that I wish I had a sister. I can only hope that my girls have this type of deep love for each other. (Though, truthfully, most times it doesn't show). Here's hoping they grow into it. I hope Wendy reads this blog.